


A Million Lifetimes & Now

by NeedyLoneWolf



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, First person Nicole, Fluff, Love, Smut, Sweetness, Wedding Night, Wedding Night Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeedyLoneWolf/pseuds/NeedyLoneWolf
Summary: Waverly & Nicole's wedding night. Literally nothing but love and sex.





	A Million Lifetimes & Now

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> As the summary indicates, this is a wedding night one-shot. 
> 
> I wanted to take a short break from my series, Guardian/Angel, but I still wanted to write, so here you go. 
> 
> Please do me a solid and let me know what you think with kudos or comments.

I married Waverly Earp today. 

Haught. Waverly Haught.

I’m still getting used to that. I’m still getting used to many things. 

Like how the gold band I’m wearing on my finger is no longer a source of shame and regret, but symbolic of the greatest love I’ve ever felt in my life. 

Like how when I talk to other people, I can refer to Waverly as my wife. (Mine, mine, mine)

Like the fact that she wanted to change her name in the first place because she doesn’t want our children to have any association with a newly broken curse. 

Our children. Our family.

These are the things I think of as I sit with my arms wrapped around the love of my life in the back of the limo that’s bringing us to our honeymoon destination. She is all taffeta and lace, I am all silk and satin. My left arm is wrapped around her shoulder, and her head rests against my chest. I have my right hand between her cheek and my heart, to protect her precious face from the pretty, but cuddle-obstructive embroidery of my dress. 

I stare out the window and Waverly dozes. It just started to drizzle. The hum of the tires on the road and the tap of the rain on the roof and her soft, rhythmic breathing are as soothing as music and I think that I’ve never been so happy in my life.

In a million, million lifetimes, here I am in one with a happy ending. Who in the world can honestly say the same? I kiss the crown of her head, I inhale deeply, and I squeeze her a little tighter. How many lives have we lived, narrowly missing one another? How many times have we been torn asunder by forces outside of our control? 

How many times have I been forced to lose her, or never know her? How steep a price have I paid to be in this moment, right now? I would suffer it all again, a thousand times over, endlessly, to end up here once. 

Karmic counterbalance.

In a world with so many people whose lives are dictated purely by chance and happenstance, how many have known what it is to be where I am, feeling what I feel? Holding the other half of my soul in my arms, flesh and blood? 

I know that I’ve done wrong. What have I done so right?

//

We arrive at the cabin I rented by the lake. It’s not the ocean, not yet, but we’ll get there. Waverly isn’t a hotel and resort kind of girl. She likes to smell cool, green air and feel the breeze and listen to the birds sing in the trees. She’s all lightness and sky and I am all solidity and earth and together we are perfectly balanced. 

I rub Waverly's shoulder and kiss her temple, whispering for her to wake up, we’re here. 

Green eyes open and meet mine and for the briefest moment look lost until the depth of our connection pulls her back into reality and she smiles and sits up, looking out the window. 

“It’s raining,” she murmurs softly, her voice still full of sleep.

I’m staring at the way the water on the window is creating patterns on her face.

“I know. It’s beautiful,” I whisper, leaning forward to nuzzle my face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder.

“Isn’t rain on your wedding day supposed to be bad luck?” I don’t have to look at her face to hear the fact that she’s smiling. 

“No, love. Rain symbolizes fresh starts. New beginnings.”

“Is that what we are?” she asks. “A fresh start?” 

Not quite. We are a circle, a wheel, turning endlessly through space and time, and in this lifetime, we’re back at the top. We’ve been here before, we’ll be here again. Different people in different timelines, but always us. There is no universe in which the threads of our existence aren’t tangled together. We’re inevitable.

I tell her that. I whisper it in her ear. 

She turns her head with her eyes half-closed and catches my mouth with hers. Her tongue runs lightly over my lower lip before “I love you,” escapes with her next breath.

I’m warm all over and I suddenly feel like a prisoner in my dress. I can tell she feels the same because her eyes are on my chest where material meets flesh, her lip is caught between her teeth, and she’s absently tugging one of my shoulder straps. Her eyes flick up to meet mine and they are the color of dark water promising hidden depths. 

We have to get out of this car.

The driver pulls up to the cabin and opens the door for us. I almost forget to tip him and struggle to find the key and get the door open, my head a fuzzy cloud of desire. I step inside and set down our bags. Waverly shuts the door behind us and then places her hands on the small of my back to propel me forward. 

We don’t bother with the lights. As if on cue, the rainclouds part and allow light from the moon and the stars to stream through the skylight above the bed. 

Apart from our soft breathing and murmured endearments, the silence is absolute. 

I’ve never been a big fan of quiet, the clamor in my head is too loud. My wife knows this, she knows me. She takes her hands off of me for just long enough to get soft music playing.

The playlist is violin and piano instrumentals. We’ve spent years building it. Sometimes she plays it at work or in the car because she knows the effect it has on me. She likes to watch the way it stops me in my tracks with greedy, playful eyes. 

There’s nothing playful about her now, though. Her look is one of pure determination and she makes her goal obvious when she unbuttons my dress, trailing a line of kisses down my back as the material falls open. She pulls the straps off my shoulders and lets it slither off my body to pool on the ground at my feet. She gives me her hand to help me step free of it and her eyes drink me in, as if she’s never seen me like this before.

It strikes me that this is the first time we’re doing this as a married couple.

We have walked hand-in-hand through hell together to culminate in this moment.

My heart is pounding as I gently remove her veil with shaky hands and reach around her back to unzip her dress. She’s as desperate as I am to remove any last vestiges of barrier between us, so for a moment it’s a flurry of hands and falling garments.

When we are both finally free, I press the whole length of my body against her, from feet to chest, and hold her cheeks in my palms as I bring our lips together. I feel her lift her left leg and hook it around the back of my thigh, her arms around my shoulders for balance. I slide my tongue in her mouth for a moment before I flex forward at the waist, bending down to scoop her up off the floor. Her legs wrap around the small of my back, like they always do, and rather than head straight for the bed, I walk forward two steps and pin her against the wall.

The action presses her against my stomach. We groan simultaneously at the contact: for her, pressure, for me, heat and silky wetness. She’s light and strong and holds herself up easily, so I take one hand out from underneath her and plunge it into the thick curls of her hair, pulling bobby pins out and dropping them to the floor as I find them.

At first we kiss deeply, but then she pulls back, gazing at me with fierce, sparkling eyes. She teases me. She leans in for a kiss, but stops with her mouth a fraction of an inch from mine and waits for me to push forward hungrily, and when I do, she draws away slightly, forcing me to chase her. 

Her eyes drink in my frustration. 

She waits until I’ve pressed her so far that the back of her head makes contact with the wall and my breath is coming out in sharp hitches. It’s not until I’m whispering, “stop, baby, please,” before she lets our mouths make contact and I gasp at combined sensation of her soft lips and tongue contrasted with the sharp nip of her teeth.

Her hips start to roll in a lazy circle against my stomach. I can feel the tension of her abdominal muscles over my ribs. I suddenly find it difficult to remain standing, so with trembling legs I walk backward until I can feel the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed and I sit down with Waverly in my lap. 

Now that we’re under the skylight I can see her clearly. I gently pull the last few pins free from her hair and let it cascade down around her shoulders. I reach one hand behind her and let my fingers travel from her upper back to the base of her skull, my fingernails scratching lightly. I watch her eyes roll back in her head and her lips part slightly before I wind her hair up in my hand and pull.

She gasps as her head drops back and her chin tilts up. Her eyes are wildfire as I guide her lips to mine and part them with my tongue. The inside of her mouth is hot and it tastes like her, like Waverly. 

My Waverly.

I break away from her and turn her head to the side. I kiss her slowly, from her clavicle up and up to just behind her ear. I suck the soft skin lightly and then turn slightly to bite the cartilage of her ear. 

Her hips are moving in increasingly wide, erratic circles and her breathing is shallow and rough. I abruptly let go of her hair to lean forward and suck a hard, pink nipple into my mouth. I run my hands down her back and feel the tension in her spinal muscles as she reflexively arches backward. She grasps at and then pushes hard at the back of my neck and my tongue rolls over her nipple. 

When the contact becomes overwhelming, she unhooks her ankles and straddles my hips on her knees, pushing me backward. I look up at her and recognize her expression. Our sexual power dynamic is relatively flexible, but in bed we tend to seek what we find ourselves craving in everyday life. For her, it’s taking control. For me, it’s relinquishing it. 

I watch her eyes trail slowly from my face to the rapidly expanding heat between my legs. She’s biting her lower lip again and I can just barely see her dark, dark eyes from underneath her long lashes. Her fingernails are digging into the soft flesh of my hips and my hands are twisting in the bedsheets. 

“Waves…”

She shifts her weight so she’s straddling my left thigh. She brings her leg up and uses her knee to nudge mine apart, her warm flesh making firm contact with my hot center. Then she reaches down, grasps my wrists in her hands and throws them over my head, bending forward and pinning me down. She leans her weight through her arms, and it hurts, but pain and pleasure have already started to blur together for me.

She drops her head to the side of my neck, licking and sucking and kissing until I’m grinding hard against her thigh before she suddenly sinks her teeth into the straining muscles of my upper shoulder. The contrast is incredible, and my eyes snap open and I try to free my hands from her grasp. Her grip tightens as she kisses the bite mark and whispers in my ear,

“No. Stay.” 

I immediately let my body relax and go limp and answer huskily, “Yes, ma’am,” with a smile. I watch the dominant persona drop briefly from her face and she smiles back at me, propping herself up on her elbows above me. I drink in the love in her eyes and she brushes a strand of my hair out of my face and dips the pad of her thumb into my dimple.

Her eyes are a little watery as they meet mine and she says, “I love you,” very softly.

“I’m yours,” I respond simply.

That predatory look returns as she sits up. “Mine,” she says, as she licks her lips.

She starts moving down my body and anticipation coils in my belly like a spring. She kisses a line down my torso until she runs out of room and she slides off the edge of the bed onto her knees. She presses her palms to my inner thighs and spreads my legs apart. Before I can flinch at the cool air, she brings her right hand up to cup me firmly and I gasp. 

She keeps her hand there as she kisses a line down the inside of my thigh and when she gets close to her goal, she finds the tendon of one of the taut muscles of my groin and bites down, hard. I cry out and lurch forward, my entire upper body coming off the bed briefly, while she simultaneously removes her hand and replaces it with her mouth.

I stay suspended for a moment in midair as she slides her tongue through my wetness. It isn’t until she begins moving her head in tight, concentric circles that my abdominal muscles give way and my shoulders drop back down to the mattress. She’s only just started and I’m already close, ridiculously close, and without realizing it, I let one hand drift down to tangle into her hair.

She stops what she’s doing immediately, raising her head and looking up at me from between the V of my legs with an arched eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, pulling my hand away and tucking it under the side of my body to prevent myself from making that mistake again. 

Waverly lowers her head and continues, and I can feel myself climbing inexorably toward a precipice. My heart is hammering in my chest, my legs are starting to shake, and I can feel that distant but distinct tingle, almost like an itch, when she stops just long enough to add two fingers.

I call out her name as I reach the peak and I’m falling over it in seconds, my orgasm ripping through me like a blinding white light. My self-control is non-existent as I wrap both hands in her hair and hold her in place until the shaking subsides.

When I finally regain control of myself and look down at her, I see she’s been watching me with her hot, hot eyes. She crawls up the length of my body, breathing hard. Her hands flutter over my damp skin, and when she leans in to kiss me, I see her expression is needy, bordering on desperate. 

I’m still riding out the aftershocks but I’m determined to answer the look on her face. I wrap my arm around her back and flip the two of us. I straddle her and using one arm, I pull her up the length of the bed and let her head fall back gently onto one of the pillows. 

She’s laying squarely in the blue light coming in from the window above us and she is absolutely ethereal in her beauty. 

Her eyes are wet and her cheeks are red and her hairline is just a little sweaty. I reach forward with one hand and run my thumb over the curve of her lower lip. She opens her mouth and licks it. I lean down and meet her tongue with mine before it can disappear back into her mouth. For a moment we stay there, suspended, breathing each other in, before I draw back. I turn my hand over and place the tips of my index and middle finger against her lips. 

She draws both fingers into her hot, wet mouth and sucks, swirling her tongue over and between them, holding my eye contact. 

I roll my body off to one side and she drops her legs open for me. The sight of her makes my heart clench and I groan. I use my wet fingers to collect the moisture that I can see glistening and then I introduce them slowly, one knuckle at a time, never once looking away from her face.

As I sink deeper her eyes get bigger and bigger until I have no more room, and as I curl my fingers forward, her eyes squint shut and her lower back arches off the bed. 

I straddle one of her thighs to pin her down and assuage some of the pressure that’s already building again between my legs. I can see her eyes roll back underneath her closed lids and she grinds down with every thrust of my fingers.

Her gasps are audible and rhythmic, and get increasingly higher pitched as she gets closer. When she reaches down to grab my wrist, I add my thumb, endeavoring to bring it and the fingers that are inside her as close together as possible, pinching the most sensitive part of her anatomy between them. 

I believe I’ve spent an endless multitude of lifetimes making love to Waverly, but even still, every time I watch her get off, it’s as good as the first time I saw it. 

I love the fact that she’s vocal up until the very moment her orgasm hits her, and then she falls dead silent.

I love the way I can feel the ripple of a thousand tiny muscle fibers, like electricity, around my fingers. 

I love the sudden warm gush I can feel in the palm of my hand.

But I especially love the way she reaches for me before it's completely over, grabbing the back of my neck and yanking me down to crush our mouths together and kiss me, whispering my name and “thank you,” and “I love you,” and “you’re amazing.” 

I let myself sink down beside her. We turn our bodies so we’re facing each other, my arms wrapping around her shoulders and our legs tangled and our burning foreheads flush together. We don't speak. We stare at each other and listen to the music, the sounds outside, the thundering beat of our hearts.

We stare at each other until her eyes drift closed and her breathing slows. I hold sleep at arm’s length so I can drink in the moment. So I can let the realization wash over me.

I married my soulmate today.


End file.
